


would you pin me to a wall

by ephemeraltea (temporarily_obsessed)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, NSFW, OR AS CLOSE AS I CAN GET LOL, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:50:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporarily_obsessed/pseuds/ephemeraltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily's had a singularly awful night. Sarge offers to improve it slightly.</p><p>And. Well. That's that, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	would you pin me to a wall

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fight the Power](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809353) by [Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective). 



> Goodluckdetective and RenaRoo are 100% to blame. This is my attempt to write sex and appease the friendship gods.

It started at four in the afternoon.

Normally, Emily did not much mind the night shift. It was loud, it was grisly, and the most fascinatingly embarrassing injuries came to sight under the florescent gleam of her hospital lights. In other words, it was _all of her favorite things._

But today, oh, today, as soon as she clocked on to begin her shift, cheer firmly in place and energy raring to go, a young soldier decided to inform her, most irritably, that the condoms she had a habit of chucking at anyone making romance-eyes were too small for his, she was supposed to believe, _unearthfully large_ member.

She had her doubts, to say the least.

Nevertheless, Emily attempted to listen to his complaint, and then politely showed him that the fit over a person’s entire head. Namely, her own. The spluttering comments he parted with, while not unentertaining, were still insulting. She didn’t, after all, favor being called a “crazy psychopathic know-it-all with a permaboner for suffering”. Emily was just odd like that.

After that, she was blessed with a few good hours of good old-fashioned doctoring. It was refreshing, to sew shut gaping wounds and prescribe antibiotics and stick arms with tetanus boosters and remove unusual objects from orifices. However, the Hospital Gods deemed that was too much simple happiness for her, and then she was stuck for an hour and half with a woman who was firmly convinced that her medication for helping her _survive her robotic limb graft_ were superfluous. (Not that the patient used that particular word.)

It was, well, particularly annoying.

Then she received notice on her tablet that her latest thesis (it was regarding the mental states of soldiers placed in misleading situations, written with considerable help from the simulation troopers) had been rejected. On the grounds of the men who rejected it were _enormous raging misogynists_. There was some bitterness there.

Blinking back tears for a moment, Emily returned to shift and attempted to work as she had never done before, to keep her mind off it.

At the end of her shift, at a truly, wonderfully unholy hour of the morning, she exited the ward and nearly ran into Colonel Sarge. He almost dropped the slender, wispy bouquet of small white and violet blossoms when he noticed her.

“Hey, there,” he said in his gruff voice, the tone gentled in a way she only heard when he was speaking to her. It reminded her of an old flannel shirt her father used to have. Worn into a softness she’d never been able to replicate since, a deep kelly-green color, and soothingly scented with her father’s deodorant and a bare touch of his cologne. It was, like Sarge himself, somehow comforting. “I, uh, saw these just outside the base and uh, couldn’t help but think of you. Your armor.” And then he thrust the flowers at her, something resembling a blush on his ears and in his voice.

The genuine sweetness of the gesture brought back the terribleness of her night, and thus the earlier tears to her eyes. “Oh -“ she said, and her voice broke slightly. “thank you, Colonel. They’re lovely.”

She tilted her head to sniff them, and the tears dropped through the spidery green stems of her gift.

“Well, now, as pretty as you are when you’re crying –“ The redness on his ears deepened to almost sunburnt color. “- I have to say, I prefer you smilin’. Tell me what wrong?”

“It’s just been a rather terrible night,” she confessed, brushing her fingers over the spiky leaves and velvety petals. “Just –. Hmm. Frustrating.”

“How so?”

She couldn’t talk about the thesis. The wound was too fresh. Instead, Emily blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Would you believe that some idiot tried to tell me the condoms were too small for his genitalia?”

He snorted. “Bonehead. I bet they’d fit me just fine.”

_“Oh?”_

And just like that, Emily felt her night improving.

He smiled at her, the blush spreading down his neck like a singularly speedy rash.

“How about I cook you somethin’ to eat first?”

* * *

Emily’s back hit the wall with a sound rather like someone knocking on a ripe melon rind. Her moan was swallowed by a rather practiced mouth, and _ohmygodyesrightthereoh_

She heard something like a grunt in the distance, but honestly, who gave a care? Sarge had just touched the back on her knees with calloused fingers and guided her legs around his waist, and the new angle was something she could write poetry to.

_Maybe later._

Time was lost to gorgeous, indescribable dunes of pleasure until-

“ _Sarge!_ Cut the racket! Some of us are trying to sleep here!”

Instead of swallowing the giggle that bubbled out of her throat at the outburst, Emily bit into Sarge’s shoulder. His moan rolled into words that sounded grudging.

_“Not now!”_

A pause. Emily bounced.

“Sarge! I’m serious. Shut the _fuck_ up!”

Emily found herself losing interest in Captain Grif’s worries; kissing was decidedly superior, especially since they had degraded (upgraded? updated?) into mostly teeth-and-tongue. Sarge seemed to agree, for his part.

“Sir.” Simmons was there too? “You can’t really blah blah blah-blah…”

Sarge had brought his fingers into play.

And then the door imploded. Captain Grif was on the floor, his eyes showing similar brilliance to her computer when her college roommate had dropped in from the third floor. Curious. Curiouser was Captains Simmons and Donut hovering in the doorway with clear expressions of comprehension and horror.

Sarge was frozen in a heated glare at his teammate.

“Grif,” he growled, and _oh_ that tone brought a certain tingle with it, “why are you lying on my floor when I’m trying to pleasure a lady?”

_Trying? Succeeding. Succeeding with honors, sir!_

“Captain Grif,” Emily managed to say, the held-in laughter aching in her cheeks as she gave a half-hearted wave. “Captain Simmons. Captain Donut.”

Simmons made an adorable squeaking noise, like a duck. _Cutie_.

“Nice form for a guy your age, Sir. Now I’m going to go and get blackout drunk,” Donut said, seeming to recover from his shell-shock. As it were. “See you all later.”

“What he said. I mean, the second part! Not the first. Not that-“ Simmons gave up on himself, poor child, and beat a hasty recovering. Meanwhile, Grif, still on the floor, seemed to only grow more and more stony and shocked.

 _Perhaps a recovery blanket?_ Emily considered idly, brushing her fingertips ever-so-lightly down the colonel’s chest. She felt his breath stutter slightly.

“Grif,” Sarge ground out between gritted teeth, “Here is what is going to happen. Ms. Grey here has had a rough day. I’m trying to help with that. So you’re going to get up. Leave this room. Shut the door. And _goddamn leave._ ”

This seemed to inspire the anti-authority in his subordinate.

“And if I don’t?” The sheer attitude in his tone would have thrilled her in any time but this one.

With a roll of Sarge’s hips into Emily’s ( _ohsweetmercifulchrist_ ), the colonel’s point was hammered home. Grif did as he was told, for perhaps the first time in Emily’s acquaintance with the orange soldier.

 _“Psychoanalyses for everyone,”_ she whispered ecstatically to her lover, a smile on her mouth. He gently brushed his lips over the hollow under her ear.

“Absolutely, sweetheart. But later.”

Emily had never heard a finer idea in all her life.

**Author's Note:**

> lol "hammered home" i'm so proud of myself


End file.
